Friday, October 18, 2013

Parenting, as done by a Neurotic

This post could also be titled, "What Goes Through My Head While Interacting with Other Parents."

Inside my head at any (and all) school functions...

"Hi, how are you? Nice to see you again. How's your son/daughter doing at school this year?"
She is so much thinner than me. 
Way thinner. 
Must be a runner.  
She probably does marathons. Why was I cursed with these short legs and lack of discipline. 
I'm going running when I get home. 

"Hi, I can't believe how big your son/daughter is getting!"
What a great suit. I bet she just came from a fulfilling day at an important job. 
Why did I even wear this outfit? Do I even own a suit anymore?
No, no I do not. 
My boys will probably grow up to think that women aren't productive members of society. 
I'm going on when I get home. 

"Hi. Nice to meet you."
Look at those earrings. So pretty. I never would have thought to buy something like that. 
Do I even own earrings that were purchased in the 21st century?
Accessories. Jewelry, shoes, purses. I have got to get on that. 
When I get home I'm going to start a Pinterest board regarding current trends.  

"Oh, hi - yes my son talks about your son/daughter all the time!"
Those children are so well behaved. 
Why is  my son yelling again? 
Please God, don't let them start hitting each other right here and now. 
They are obviously way better parents than I am. 
When I get home I am ordering parenting books from

"It was great seeing you too. Let's do a playdate sometime."
I do not schedule enough playdates. 
My children are socially deprived. 
It's a wonder they can socialize at all. 
When I get home I am emailing every parent on the class list for a playdate, before it's too late. 

"Take care. Bye!"
We're probably leaving too early. Are we leaving too early? 
Everyone in there is enjoying themselves except me. 
No one likes me, or my kids. 
I bet they're all headed home to feed their children healthy, vegetable-laden dinners, too. 
Tomorrow I am going to do everything better. 

Monday, October 7, 2013


My youngest is small for his age.

25th percentile for height, and easily the wee-est one in his preschool class.

Ignore the epic blinking face on photobombing brother.

He is anti all things dairy (except ice cream, of course) so on the rare occasions that he asks for chocolate milk, I am happy to oblige.

Today was one of those days.

I obtain a tall cup of chocolatey calcium and hand it over.

Something occurs with plastic swords and the entire glass is spilled.

I grind my teeth, "No big deal guys, accidents happen" I say, with mock cheerfulness and I obtain another cup of chocolate milk.

For growing bones, I tell myself as I hand it over.

Why can't they play with dolls? 

This time something happens with a plastic bead necklace and the table and floor are once again covered in milk.

This time my cheery, "Lets not cry over spilled milk" isn't fooling anyone.

His short little bones be damned, he ain't getting another cup.